A Grunt of Pleasure and Pain
by DatFreud
Summary: During their time together, Connor had learned that Daryl had various kinds of grunts, and each of them had a different meaning depending on the tone and situation. After nearly getting himself killed, Connor gets to see a rare side of Daryl and he gets to experience some new ways, in which Daryl's grunts can be interpreted


The stench of burning flesh filled the air in the abandoned vicarage and a pained groan could be heard from the kitchen. The old stove was turned on and the gas flame illuminated the two men at the kitchen table, and covered them in a blue-orange light. Connor was sitting shirtless on the kitchen table with a bloody shoulder and a pained expression. Daryl was standing between the Irishman's legs with a burning red iron in his hand and a frown on his face. He hated seeing Connor in pain like this, and even though it wasn't his fault that Connor got shot in his shoulder in the first place, he still felt like Connor's pain right now was his fault, because he was the one burning the wound shut.

"Sit still, or else I'm gonna mess it up," Daryl warned his friend in front of him. Daryl didn't like the situation, but he wasn't being a complete crybaby about it like Connor was. They had to close the wound or else it could get infected.

"That's easy for you to say, " Connor and looked at the hunter with an annoyed gaze. Ever since Daryl had removed the bullet from the wound, Connors shoulder had hurt like hell, and pressing a burning hot iron into the tender flesh, wasn't making it any better.

"Don't expect any pity. This is your own fault, dumbass, " Daryl snorted and looked at Connor with a serious frown. Connor had really scared him with that stunt he pulled today. They had been scouting the local area for supplies together. It should have been an easy run, but they hadn't been the only ones scouting the area. As always Connor had wanted to take a diplomatic approach, before restoring to violence. He had left their hideout in an attempt to approach the opposite group. But before the Irishman even had had a chance to open his mouth, bullets had started to fly through the air. He had gotten hit in the shoulder and fell to the ground.

When Daryl heard the shots and saw his friend go down, a million different thoughts and emotions rushed through him, and his mind went completely blank. All he was able to do, was to stare in utter horror at Connors body. It was only when Connor started to move a few seconds later, that Daryl remembered how to use his body.

With his entire body acting on pure instinct and Adrenalin Daryl had fired an arrow at Connor's attacker. He didn't even wait to see if the air hit its mark. As soon as his he had pulled the trigger, he dashed out of their hiding spot and towards his fallen friend, to drag him to safety. Blood had already started to soak through Connor's shirt, and Daryl could feel the warm substance run down between his fingers, as he helped Connor away from the battle.

Daryl had never run away from a fight like that before. He had been taught by Merle and their dad, that running away was the coward's way. It was even worse than losing. If either of the deceased family members had been alive to see Daryl first risking his life for another man and the turning tail and run, then he would have become the victim of endless mocking. Even though neither Merle nor their father were there, some of their hurtful words still echoed in Daryl's mind. And Daryl had to agree with some of them. He shouldn't have acted so recklessly. He could have gotten himself killed. He could see that now, but back in that moment, all he had cared about was Connor, and because of that his father's and Merles voices roared in fury. A real man wasn't supposed to feel like that towards another man. It was sick and unnatural. Daryl's father and Merle had made that very clear on various occasions. And for the most of his life Daryl had believed that notion to be true. In the past, he would think that he was weak or that something was wrong with him. But this was the present. Neither Merle nor their father were here. Only their echoing voices remained, and those Daryl could ignore.

Connor had expected Daryl to burn the Irishman's skin again as soon as he was sitting still, but the overwhelming pain and the sound of sizzling flesh never came. Instead of preparing for burning the wound again, Connor saw Daryl starring at the floor, like he was in a whole other world. Daryl could be a bit hard to read sometimes. Back when they first meet, Connor had a hard time understanding Daryl, and often misread him, which lead to a lot of misunderstandings and fights between them. Connor had to get use to Daryl not being as charismatic and outgoing as Murphy and Connor himself. Connor always knew what Murphy was thinking or feeling, because he communicated whit his whole body, not just with words. In time, Connor began to see the same kinds of communications methods with Daryl. The way he narrowed his eyes, the way he positioned his body or the way he grunted. Daryl did communicate with his body like Murphy, it was just harder to detect. And right now, Connor couldn't detect anything useful for getting a reading on the hunter, which really bothered him.

Daryl blinked in confusion when he felt a cold fingertip tap him between his eyebrows. His frown deepened and he looked at his friend with a raised eyebrow. Connor pulled his hand back and placed just underneath the wound on the opposite arm. He smiled warmly at the hunter, when he finally got his attention.

"Don't chicken out on me now. Or is the blood too much? Do you need a break?," Connor said in a mocking tone and a cocky smile on his lips, while gesturing towards his still bleeding shoulder.

"Jackass," Daryl mumbled in a lack of a better response and turned away from his Irish friend and walked across the small kitchen, "I just need to heat this up again, " he said and raised the iron and wiggled it at bit. Daryl placed the iron on the burning stove and turned towards the window. He could see the small fence that surrounded the house from the kitchen window. It wouldn't do much good against other humans, but after Daryl had gotten Connor to the vicarage he had gone back a few miles to cover their tracks, in case the hostile group had followed them out of town, so they should be fine, and only had to worry about walkers. And the fence would work just fine as walker- defense.

"Almost night time," Daryl observed and kept looking out of the window like he expected a walker to suddenly open the gate.

"Aye. We better spend the night here and re-group with Rick and the others tomorrow," Connor suggested from his spot on the kitchen table. It would be a bad idea to go wandering in the night, especially with Connor wounded. They risk of being surrounded by walkers in the dark with them even knowing it, was way too high, so staying the night was the most logical choice in a survival point of view, but Connor also had an alternative motive for wanting to stay. Whenever Connor becomes too personal or too affective around when the others are around, Daryl immediately shuts down and becomes distant. But whenever it's just them, the hunter seems more relaxed, more himself and even a bit more affective himself. And Connor liked that side of Daryl.

The only response he got from the hunter was a small grunt, but during their time together, Connor had learned that Daryl had various kinds of grunts, and each of them had a different meaning depending on the tone and situation. This grunt simply meant the hunter agreed with him.

On the stove the iron had turned an angry red color, which meant it was time for round two of Connor's treatment.

Connor had tried both closing wounds with a hot iron and getting a wound closed, but didn't mean it got any easier the second time around. In fact, it only made it worse because now Connor knew what to expect.

"You ready?" Daryl asked his friend in a low voice, when he returned between the Irishman's leg with the burning iron. Pieces of burned flesh were still hanging for it from Daryl's first attempt at closing the wound. Connor looked at the hot metal and then at his friend while he slowly nodded. He wasn't getting any more ready than this. It was best just get it over with as quickly as possible.

"Do it."

A nasty sound filled the air when the iron was pressed against Connor's wound, burning it close. Connor gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut. Somehow it became more bearable when he wasn't able to see it. But it still hurt like hell. They only thing which stopped Connor from tossing around on the table, was Daryl's strong grip on his shoulder. The grip gave Connor something else to focus on rather than the burning pain.

"That's it. Just a little bit more. You're doing just fine," Daryl encouraged in a tender voice, without really knowing why. It just felt like the right thing to do at the moment. It didn't feel strange or uncomfortable, like he had expected. In fact, it felt almost natural.

Connor groaned in pain and gripped Daryl's upper arm for support, digging his nails into the tan skin. When the pain finally subsided, all Connor could do was lean forward and rest his head against Daryl's front, while trying to catch his breath.

The sudden feeling of Connor's warm breath against his collarbone made Daryl freeze. He still wasn't used to the Irishman's level of physical contact, and it stilled surprised him whenever those friendly and warm touches were directed towards him. But even though it surprised him, he still welcomed it. Sometimes, more than others, though. Tonight was one of the times, when Daryl especially welcomed the contact, because that warm and elevated breath against him, were proof that Connor was still alive. Daryl hadn't lost him today. He wasn't alone.

Despite Merle's spiteful word's ringing in his head, Daryl still dared to wrap both of his arms around Connor in a gentle manner, being careful of the newly sealed wound. Merle's voice inside his head was right. This was a pathetic and girly thing to do. But Daryl needed the contact right now. He needed the reassurance that Connor was really there.

With a smile on his lips Connor returned the tender gesture, dragging Daryl closer to him. The Irishman liked these quiet moments which he and Daryl sometimes shared. Living in a bigger group, where everybody is constantly on guard, makes those moments where it's just him and Daryl, rare and far apart. He loved how the hunter helped him forget how fucked up the world had become. Like an anchor, Daryl helped Connor keep his mind from wandering into a future filled worry or from drifting back into a past weighed down by regret and sorrow.

Daryl didn't know for how long they stayed like that, with Connor on the table and Daryl between his legs, with both of his arms around the Irishman. Connor's breathing had slowed down, the burned smell had subsided and the last rays of sunshine had vanished. Daryl could feel Connor stir to live against him, and then it happened. Like so many times before, it was Connor ,who first initiated it the sudden change in the air.

It happened slowly. The hand resting against Daryl's back, started to move upwards and into Daryl's hair, where it massaged his scalped and tucked him closer. Connor's breathing had changed again.

A shiver ran through the hunter's body when he felt Connor's lips move against the sensitive skin on his collarbone and neck. The shiver didn't go unnoticed. A smirk formed on Connor's lips and he placed an open mouth kiss just below the hunter's ear, causing Daryl to shiver again.

"Cut it out," Daryl growled, but his voice didn't hold any threat and he didn't move away either. He knew what Connor's gentle touches and his teasing kisses were leading to, and as much as Daryl wanted to follow Connor down that road, this wasn't the time.

"Why," Connor asked, but he didn't stop. He continued his slow trail of open mouth kisses up and down Daryl's neck. He was certain that if the hunter really wanted him to stop, he would just push Connor away and that would be the end of it. But Daryl wasn't pushing him away.

"Because you're hurt," Daryl said in a low voice and swallowed hard, when Connor nipped at his earlobe.

"Maybe that's exactly why I need this right now, " Connor mumbled and stopped his kissing to look at Daryl, making sure, that the hunter understood the meaning behind his words.

Daryl swallowed a lump in his throat when he met the Irishman's gaze. Even though Connor hadn't said it directly, Daryl knew what he meant to say, but couldn't; I need you right now.

The feeling of being needed was a welcoming one that warmed Daryl from the inside and out. At the Atlanta camp Daryl had discovered that people in the camp only tolerated having him and Merle around because they needed them for hunting and for protection. They needed their skills. It wasn't like that with Connor. Connor needed him. To Connor, Daryl wasn't just a crossbow.

"You're such a dumbass," Daryl muttered, and a big smile broke out on Connor's lips. In an attempt to wipe that stupid grin off Connor's face Daryl forcefully pressed his own lips against Connor's. The Irishman immediately returned the kiss, and pressed himself closer to Daryl's body.

"And yet, you still didn't hesitate to save my dumb ass," Connor mumbled in-between kisses, while he grabbed a handful of Daryl's hair in his fist.

"Didn't want your annoying brother blaming me for something that was your own damn fault."

When Connor opened his mouth to protest, Daryl slipped his tongue into the Irishman's mouth, causing his friend to moan into the heated kiss. Teeth clacked against teeth, as they both battled for dominance over the sloppy kiss.

Connor wanted Daryl to take the lead this time, but that didn't mean he would just give Daryl the upper hand. The hunter would have to earn it.

And Daryl did just that when he placed his knee on the table next to Connor's thigh, forcing Connor to lean further back and enabling Daryl to press his clothed erection against Connor's, making both of them gasp.

Daryl was usually so calm and collected and so unselfish. He always put other's needs before his own. That's why Connor liked this side of the hunter. He knew he was the only one who got to see this side of Daryl.

"Mmm, now that's more like it," Connor groaned and hooked a leg round Daryl's waist, pulling them even closer together. Both of them groaned when the movement caused their still trapped erection to press up against each other, sending jolts of heat through both of the men. With a feral look in his eyes Daryl looked at Connor, and started to thrust and grind against him in an unsteady rhythm. He bent down further to kiss the Irishman again. It was sloppy. It was uncoordinated. It was needed.

Connor moaned out loud and clung to Daryl with his good arm, while he tried to match Daryl's movements to create more friction. The Adrenaline was back into Connor's blood, but for an entirely different reason this time. He felt alive like this with Daryl.

Connor gasped involuntarily when Daryl bid down on his collarbone and continued to kiss, bid and lick the sensitive spot. The sound Connor made went straight to Daryl's cock, and made the hunter even more eager and desperate for physical contact.

With a trembling hand, Daryl reached down to unfasten his belt. Connor quickly caught on , and with a wicked gleam in his eye, he reached for his own belt, but a sharp pain in his shoulder, made him stop. He groaned and cursed under his breath.

"Let me," Daryl panted in a hoarse voice. He made quick work of the Irishman's belt and freed his cock. Connor hissed when the chilly night air hit his most sensitive parts.

Daryl had stopped thrusting and the lack of friction was nearly driving him mad. But he had another goal in mind. A goal, which required him to be patient. The hunter started to stroke Connor's cock in a slow and teasing rhythm, making Connor groaned in pleasure and dig his fingers harder into Daryl's back.

Daryl smiled in satisfaction at the sound and wet his lips. He knew he was the reason Connor was losing control like that right now. He knew, it was because of him, his friend was making those noises of pleasure. It was a rare sight to see Connor not in control and not in charge. The Irishman was always planning, always acting and always in control of himself. Except in those moments, when they very together like. Daryl treasured those times. Together they could let go of their usual roles and just do and be what they need at the moment.

"If you ain't gonna do it properly, let me do it myself," snarled Connor when Daryl continued the slow torture. But Connor wasn't the only one who was bothered by the slow pace. Daryl also longed for something faster and harder. Something more intimate. It took all of his self-control to keep the rhythm slow, but it was going to be worth it. He wanted Connor to become desperate and to beg for it. To beg for him. As selfish as it sounded, the thought alone of Connor needing and wanting him aroused, and made his cock throb.

"God dammit Daryl!"

With Connor being as stubborn as he was, Daryl knew that was the closest thing to a beg, he was going to get. Satisfied, Daryl grabbed both of their cocks in one hand, and without a warning, he started to pump in a fast rhythm.

Connor cursed and threw his head back at the sudden overload of sensations. The contrast between the feeling of Daryl's rough hand and the feeling of his warm and hard cock against Connor's own, mixed with the sharp pain from Connor's shoulder made the perfect combination. It drove Connor dangerously close to the edge. Beads of pre-come was starting to leak from the tip of Connor's cock, making Daryl's hand movement smoother and slicker. Daryl's thumb brushed over the tip, smearing more of the pre-come over the head of Connor's cock, making Connor moan a curse at the hunter.

Daryl leaned forward and pressed his forehead against Connors, breathing in the same air as him. When Connor took a sharp intake of breath and his hips started to jerk, Daryl knew his friend was close, but not quite there yet.

With a wicked grin Daryl leaned down and attracted Connor's already abused collarbone, while increasing the speed of his hand.

Connor moaned out loud and his whole body jerked when he came hard between them, covering both his own stomach and Daryl's hand in cum.

Daryl's own orgasm followed soon after, and he had to use the last of his strength to avoid collapsing against his wounded friend.

"I should get hurt more often," Connor chuckled in a tired voice, which earned him another grunt from Daryl. This one didn't mean that Daryl agreed with him, far from it. This one meant; Don't you fucking dare, or I'll kill you myself.

Oh how Connor loved the stupid hunter and his grunts.


End file.
